


Water Is Polar

by hoedogg



Series: a series of unrelated jamilton fics [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Merfolk AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, alex can also bend water, but not too slow, but who knows, it's weird - Freeform, neither of those last two are explicit, not too bad tho, so are his friends, thomas is a fucking fish, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9934490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoedogg/pseuds/hoedogg
Summary: A man who can bend water. A man who is half fish. Neither can live without the ocean. What happens when two beings incapable of staying away from the same thing meet? Water is polar— can they be too?





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> this is veeeeery loosely inspired by moana bc i watched it for like the 6th time and thought of this. I don't have a schedule yet so obviously i dont know when the next chapter will be out since this is the first thing ive written since What If. i was gonna make this way angstier but i cant rly write angst so no. also keep in mind when reading the spanish: puerto ricans speak p much the most broken down spanish alive so if its weird either in this chapter or in future chapters let me know.  
> anyway.  
> enjoy :)

The ability to control water was more of an inborn skill for Alexander than it was a practiced one. He’d always had a love for it. As a small child, he’d always beg his mother to let him splash around in the tub for a little longer. His most favorite place in the world was always the beach, he could spend his whole day there and not even _think_ to go back home. In fact, one of his fondest memories was the day he turned seven years old and his parents bought him a little plastic kiddie pool. It was always as if the water called him, begged for his approach, and who was he to say no?

It was always a strong connection, but when he was with the sea? That was a whole different story. His connection was strongest when around her. Being at the beach gave him a feeling like no other. It made him high, like he could do anything, like he was invincible. But, he also felt an amazing sense of calm— a serene, atmospheric sensation that washed away his worries, his fears. It gave him hope and strength. Often times, he’d have dreams of living in the ocean, walking along the fluffy sands deep within her blue waters. He longed for her touch the way an alcoholic longs for his next drink; sometimes it drove him mad— so mad, in fact, that he had to start a bath and sit in it, if only to calm his nerves.

He hadn’t always been able to bend it at will, though. At first, he could only feel the water’s presence within him. His mother once told him of a time when she had turned away from his bath when he was a baby for a moment or so, he’d fallen backwards into the water, but he didn’t move at all. His mother thought he’d drowned without her realizing, but he didn’t. It’s a baby’s survival instinct to hold their breath when submerged, and he’d actually started laughing and waving his arms around excitedly when she lifted him out of the water in panic. As he gradually got older, his ability grew with him. He’d begun being able to move the water without touching it. He’d sit in the tub and slowly wave his hand from left to right, staring at the water, and it’d follow his hand. He did this everyday until his parents decided it was time for him to start taking showers, both to save time and money. It was then that he discovered he could stop the water from running. It wouldn’t just turn off, though. The drops of water would still right in front of him, unmoving. Doing this gave him a powerful feeling.

And of course he thought it was really cool, so one day he filled the tub with water and called in his parents. While they came, he willed all of the water in the tub to rise up in one big blob. His parents were sure to be proud. After all, you don’t see something like that everyday.

But, they weren’t. Their reactions were quite the opposite. His mother screamed in terror and his father yelled at him, _“How are you doing that, Alexander?”_ in a voice that bled fear. Alexander had his back turned to them, though, so he had no way of knowing just how alarmed they were, he didn’t even notice their alarm. He was in too much of a happy trance to hear the quick footsteps behind him. The water fell, splashing everywhere when his father grabbed him roughly by the collar and threw him, literally _threw_ him, away from the tub. His mother stepped away, out into the hallway before he could hit her legs. He doesn’t remember exactly what his father yelled at him, but the way he screamed _“Hijo del Diablo!”_ at him is something he’ll never forget. What happened after that is cloudy, he can only remember tiny bits and pieces of it. He’d ignored those memories for so long that he doesn’t even fully remember them. Despite that, they still haunt him.

Years after that, his father abandoned Alexander and his mother. His parents had been fighting for so long, but no one could anticipate anything as as horrible as what happened that night. Alexander knew it was because of him. He remembers that after whatever happened after the tub incident, his father went out for a drink as his mother fearfully tended to the wounds covering his body. She couldn’t keep up with bills after that, so she ended up having to save enough money to afford a one-bedroom apartment in order for them to sell their house. When someone finally bought it, they had enough money for a better apartment, this time by the beach. His mother no longer had to sleep on the dirty couch so he could have the bed, and they were able to afford to buy groceries more often. Of course, there were times when his mother struggled to pay the bills, but they got by. They never had to go hungry, at least. And since the apartment building was in front of the beach, Alexander didn’t spend as much time in the shower. It was hard adjusting to life without his father at first, but they eventually found a new normal.

Still, he found himself worrying that his mother secretly hated him for the trouble he caused. He feared that all the “I love you”s and the “Have a nice day at school”s were all a lie.

“Are you gonna send me to a doctor?” He once asked. They both sat on the cheap plastic chairs they kept on the balcony, watching the sunset.

“Why would I?” She asked back, turning her head to look at him.

Alexander kept his eyes trained on the horizon. “I know I’m not normal. I have a… problem. Are you gonna send me away?”

She reached down to pick up her open beer bottle and took a swig of it. “ _Nene, los hospitales son para los enfermos. Sientes enfermo?_ ”

Alexander took a second to think about that. He lowered his head to stare down at his lap. “No, but I’m not normal.”

She placed her hand on top of his. “That don’t matter to me, _chico_. You’re my son, and I love you. You have a gift, and as long as you not doin’ wrong with it, there’s nothing wrong.”

When a tear fell from his eye onto the old, ratty basketball shorts he had on, he felt her arms circle around him, and he leaned into her embrace.

“Tell you what,” she says, pulling away enough to look at him. “No one goes to the beach on Monday. I’ll call in sick, and I won’t take you to school. You can show me some tricks of yours. I know you’ve been sneaking out at night to practice.” She playfully slapped his arm. He smiled wider than ever, nodded his head vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> Hijo del Diablo!— Son of the Devil  
> Nene, los hospitales son para los enfermos. Sientes enfermo?— Boy [endearingly], hospitals are for the sick. Do you feel sick?  
> chico— boy [also endearingly]
> 
>  
> 
> btw i thrive off of positive attention so kudo/bookmark/comment if you like this


	2. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. did the second chapter take longer than it should have? yes. should i orphan all my stories and give up my dreams of being a professional writer for a sad office job where I'll be a slave to my fat boss? probably. but I'm not gonnaaaaa.  
> I also wrote a good portion of this in my creative writing class on my phone so idk how good/bad it is. I skimmed through it for basic mistakes but I'll edit it seriously later. I also made some more minor corrections to the first chapter but I think it made it about 1000 times better.  
> usually I'd say there'll be a new chapter soon but I can't be for sure. all I can say is next chapter will (hopefully) be a bit dramatic.  
> also im not sure if I'll keep the Slow Burn tag around very long since realistically I write pretty short stories but who knows 
> 
> enjoy ;)

The beach next to Alexander and his mother’s apartment has a spacious section off-limits to everyone due to the large, dangerous rocks in the water. It hadn’t used to be fenced off, but when a couple’s small child ran off on his own while they weren’t paying attention, he'd gone into the waters. He went in too deep and there was a big wave, or something like that, and it slammed him into a rock. The parents reported him missing, and it didn’t take long to find the body— he washed up on shore after a while, and the search party found him after about a week or two. The kid’s body was full of cuts and bruises. His skin was all blue and wrinkled, just about ready to slosh off of his body due to being in the water for so long. After that, the couple sued the city for having such such a dangerous part of the beach open to the public, and it was ruled that that section of the beach be closed off for good. This happened before Alexander and his mother moved, but pretty much everyone in town knows about it since it’s a fairly close-knit community, so no one really ever goes there. What happened there was tragic, after all.

It’s Alexander’s favorite place to go. He doesn't have class on Mondays, so that's where he always goes to think and practice controlling the waves. Lately, he's been trying to get the water to part for him so he can walk on the sand underneath it. So far, he's only been able to part it up to about three or four feet before becoming too exhausted. He could lift the water in a bath easily but the ocean is a whole other ballgame. It's mischievous and wild, which makes it harder to control. Not to mention that there's so damn _much_ of it.

He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching before climbing the tall fence. When he gets to the top, he tumbles down, back hitting hard sand and drawing a cough out of him. After all these years, he still can't climb the damn fence without falling over. Once, he'd reached the top and lost his footing, making him hit himself hard. In between his legs. It hurt so bad he didn't even grab onto the fence to keep himself from falling off the top all together. He'd spent about ten whole minutes holding his crotch and crying. He was about thirteen when that happened— his first time jumping the fence.

For a little bit, he just sat in his swim trunks in the water, lazily twirling his hand around, enjoying the way a thick stripe of water rose and danced in sync with each movement of his wrist. The calmness that came with this felt like a blessing. Earlier that morning, he'd been thinking hard about his father and why he ran out. Though Alexander had already established long ago that it was because of him, the black smoke of his father's anger that night clearly wasn't directed towards Alexander. Instead, it seemed more toward his mother. Actually, wasn't his father screaming at his mother that she was a whore? A liar? He doesn't know what it means. He tries to stop thinking about it, but at times, his mind proves to be stronger than his will. He closes his eyes in hopes of shutting off the pictures in his head, but he's transported to the past.

_Alexander stood in front of his parents as they screamed at each other. He cried and begged them to stop, stupidly believing his mere presence would be enough for them to realize it's time to cease their rapid-fire insults. He stood, only seven years old, chubby hands clutching onto his softest blanket and crying, his sobs becoming louder and louder._

Alexander takes a breath, already feeling tears push at his eyelids.

_He jumped when his father slapped his mother hard across the face, sending her head flying to the side._

He opens his eyes just a bit, head down, allowing the hot tears to fly freely.

_As his mother cried and yelled, his father grabbed her by the arms and shook her, yelling, before throwing her against the wall and punching her._

Alexander doesn’t want to be here. His father could find them if he tried. He wants to run.

_He couldn’t bear it any longer. He dropped his blanket threw himself at his father, successfully taking his attention off of her, and weakly punching his father's head. Clearly unhurt, but angry nonetheless, he roughly grabbed Alexander’s hair— he'd always said he hated its length— and threw him to the ground._

He’s worthless.

_What happens next is a blur, but Alexander vaguely remembers a calloused hand around his neck while the other punched him hard in the nose, mouth, and eyes. But, he remembers what happened next clear as day: his mother had ran to the closet to get his father's handgun and threatened to shoot him unless he get his hands off of Alexander._

He doesn’t want to be here. They’ll never be safe.

_His father releases him, leaving Alexander curled in on himself. He remembers her screaming, “Get out, James! No te quiero ver jamas!”_

He can’t get that gun out of his head.

_His father walked out, but not before he promised, “This ain't over, bitch. I'll be back.” Despite the threat, and the gun still in his mother’s hand, that was still the most relieved Alexander had ever felt._

He swallows before taking a breath. He'd been holding it for a while now, not even realizing it. Not yet opening his eyes, he untangles his arms that have circled around his torso, and wipes away his tears. He scrubs hard at his irritated eyes with the heel of his left hand while he wipes away the snot that has trailed down from his nose to his lips.

He swallows again. Crying always leaves him drained, but calm. His thoughts keep quiet, something that rarely happens. It's a nice feeling, he thinks. He enjoys the stillness of the world around him. The wind that had previously been blowing around him has stilled, and the smell of the ocean is stronger than it's ever been. He sways side to side, eyes still closed, because doing this usually makes him feel better.

He sucks in a great, big breath through his mouth, and releases it in a huff.

When Alexander opens his eyes, he's met with deep blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS
> 
> No te quiero ver jamas - I never want to see you again
> 
>  
> 
> i think i said it last chapter but I'll say it again: i speak Puerto Rican spanish. we speak the most broken down fucked up spanish there is. so if you speak traditional spanish and you notice anything wrong with the translation, PLEASE tell me


	3. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this didn't take as long as I thought it would. This chapter is a lil boring though but the next one will be p good. we might just meet a specific fish *wink*. Either that or everyone's favorite stoner (take a guess)

Alexander was twelve years old when he noticed some older kids following him home from school. They were pretty much known as the school bullies, and they usually taunted him, but always  _ during _ school hours. They’d never followed him around before. He felt unsafe, so he decided to cut through this little alleyway between the old barber shop and what used to be an empty building, but is now a cute bakery. They still followed him, though. He heard his own pulse in his ears, and felt his hands get all clammy and uncomfortable. He doesn’t remember too well what led to this, but at some point they were holding him up by the chest and legs over the dumpster against the brick wall of the barber shop. The only thing stopping them from actually throwing Alexander in the garbage was Alexander pushing himself against the dirty ledge of the dump while hollering for help. he screamed for help, but no one came. He didn’t know how to protect himself— they weren’t near water— so when his fight or flight instincts took over, all he could do was thrash his legs. He wanted to grab the broken beer bottle lying amongst the garbage, to smash it against their big, pimply faces, but he couldn’t. If he did, they could have just pushed him in by the side that wasn’t grabbing onto the ledge. 

But, some miracle, he managed to kick one in the eye. The guy dropped his left foot, and Alexander took the chance to kick the other in the nose. When the second guy let him go with a yell, the third and biggest one threw him on the ground. Just before he got the chance to hurt him, Alexander picked up a large chunk of broken-off cement and chucked in at him. It hit him in the stomach, causing him to hunch over and hold himself, which didn’t last too long. But, while he did this, Alexander ran up and had to grab onto the ledge of the dump to jump up and grab the first thing he could— a thick piece of wood. 

Once he had that in his hands, he ran to the biggest one, who was still doubled over, and hit him in the back with the wood. The guy fell to his knees, and Alexander just kept beating him. Always go for the biggest first. It was technique he learned from watching prison reality shows. He continued to hit the guy on the back, his legs, his head, before finally stopping and turning to the two other guys, who stood in utter fear and surprise. While the biggest guy was left curled in on himself on the ground, Alexander slowly backed away from the three of them, plank ready, before breaking into a sprint with the bloody plank still in his hand. He ran all the way to the beach, and once he’d finally made it to the apartment, he threw the plank in the garbage, ran up the stairs, opened the door to their apartment, and hugged his mother tightly as he cried into her shoulder. He explained what happened as she calmed him down, saying how proud she was of him for defending himself and that he did nothing wrong.

Strangely enough, opening your eyes and realizing you're sitting at the bottom of the ocean is not as scary as facing your bullies. Not for Alexander, at least. He should be  _ terrified _ , but he isn’t. He turns his head to look around him calmly, even curiously. He’s surprised, obviously, but not scared. He’s not willing the ocean to preserve the oxygen around him by opening up some sort of weird dry bubble the way it’s doing right now. It’s just kind of… happening? He turns his head up above him, looking at the distorted sun through the dancing waves, wondering how this happened. One minute his eyes were closed, the next he’s sitting at the bottom of the freaking ocean, looking around like it’s a new bedroom or something. Weird.

Alexander stands, sniffles in that annoying way people do after they cry, and thinks of whether or not his “bubble” will follow him if he walks. He takes a few tentative steps, looking at the ground to see if it stays dry beneath him. Good thing it does, he thinks, but how am I supposed to get home? He doesn’t suppose he could will the ocean to lift him up so he could see how far he is from land. He wants to try it, but just keeping this bubble (oxygen area? Dry space?) together is taxing, and he isn’t even consciously willing it to happen. Still, he has to get to land. This is starting to seriously weird him out, and the fact that he’s completely emotionally numb to all of this isn’t helping. So, he takes a breath and stretches his arms over his head before reading himself. He tilts his head upward, willing the water around him to lift him up. It almost works at first— some water starts pouring in at his side, but it’s as if the pressure of the ocean is in his head. He becomes too exhausted to continue, so he stops, causing the water to go rushing back out of his bubble-thing. He pants for a few seconds, trying to gain back his strength. It takes a minute or two, but he’s eventually able to stand again. Fruitlessly, he tried again and again. By the fourth or fifth time, he became restless. All he wants to do is poke his head out the water to see how far he’s going to have to swim.

Why can’t he just do it? Is he really that weak? Jesus, he doesn’t want to be weak, he doesn’t want to be stuck at the bottom of the ocean for so long. He doesn’t even know how long he’d been here. He can see the water around him begin to stir, but he doesn’t pay attention to that. He doesn’t like feeling weak— he  _ hates _ it. He could just  _ kill _ something. He looks around, but all there is is blue. There’s two or three fish, but that’s about it. It irritates him for some reason. Just so he doesn’t end up smashing his head into the sand, he lets out the loudest yell he can.

And then he’s shot out of the water. It’s a sudden push. Yet another thing he wasn’t actively willing for the water to do at that moment.

He freefalls from what must be more than one hundred feet in the air, screaming and flailing for dear life. Alexander always loved the water, he didn’t think it would kill him until now. His mind doesn’t even have time to process the fear. He doesn’t even feel his own heartbeat. He feels as if his soul has detached itself from his body, and he’s looking down at his own unconscious body hit the water before the deep blue in his eyes is cut off to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys liked it? idk.


	4. Weird, Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy oh boy looks who's back.  
> so.  
> explanation: i absolutely have started to hate my writing and had left this chapter half finished since may 15th and its currently 1:15AM where i am and i was bored so i finished it. I even edited it just for you guys, who wouldve thought. Hopefully ill get back on track but honestly? idk. BUT HEEEEY its longer than the rest of the chapters AND johnny boy makes an appearence
> 
> enjoy

When Alexander comes to, he's confused by the intense warm light pushing against his eyelids. He takes a breath— or, at least, _tries_ to— but coughs harshly. When he recovers, he rolls to his side before very slowly opening and closing his eyes, little by little adjust to the blinding light. As he does this, he notices how sticky and uncomfortable his body feels, and when he licks his chapped lips, they taste salty. He tries to remember what happened. He’s vaguely aware that he’s laying on something scratchy, and he can smell the ocean, so he assumes he’s still on the beach. When he can finally open his eyes, he also realizes that his skin feels like it’s set on fire every time he moves, which only adds onto the uncomfortability. He sits up and swallows, ignoring the wavy feeling of in his head that causes his vision to blur in and out of focus. Slowly, he looks around him. He doesn’t know what time it is, but the sun hangs higher in the sky than from what he last remembers, which begs the question: How long has he laid there on the sand, and what the hell happened? His guess is that he must’ve been there for an hour or two, judging by the way only the front side of his torso, and exposed parts of his legs, and the left side of his face burns painfully when he stands. He sways a little, but recovers quickly.

Alexander makes his way towards the book bag he left on a big rock, and unzips it before fishing around the purified water bottles, thick textbooks, and his shirt for his phone. He pulls it out and checks the time: three o’clock. He’d gotten there around eleven or twelve. He looks down at his red arms and chest, thinking about how many bottles of aloe vera gel he’s going to have to buy. He sucks his teeth in annoyance, and tucks his phone away in the pockets of his swim trunks. He cautiously reaches again in his bag, trying not to rub his hand against its zipper or walls. He grabs the rolled-up shirt and carefully slips it on, sucking in his breath when he feels the material shifting against his skin. He’s so red and peeling right now, he probably looks like an enraged banana.

He climbs over the fence (falling on his front side, as per his luck, causing him to pretty much scream like a little girl), and makes his way to the boardwalk, so he can buy some aloe vera gel at a little surf store next to the entrance of the beach. He passes by some people while walking along the wood, earning some sympathetic looks at the sight of his burned face. He just keeps walking, suddenly remembering that he’s going to have to miss his civ pro class, so he pulls out his phone to text a good friend of his, Mulligan, to send him pictures of the notes. Just as he puts his phone back in his pocket, he sees his friend John riding his skateboard, sporting a graphic short-sleeved button down and some salmon-colored chino shorts with black Vans. He has a pair of mirrored sunglasses resting on his curly head, pulling his hair out of his face. It looks good on him. Then again, anything looks good on John. He even managed to make a dress work once (he lost a bet against Alexander’s ex’s sister Peggy).

When John notices him, he smiles and waves. Alexander waves back as John stops in front of him.

“Hey, man,” he says holding out his fist. “Crazy burn. How'd you manage that?”

Alexander knocks his fist with John’s. “Fell asleep on the beach, and I'm pretty sure this is what dying feels like.”

John hums. “You gonna buy some of that weird gel shit?”

“No, John, I'm going to buy a box of kittens, because that is exactly what I need right now.”

John holds out his hands in surrender. “Shit, okay, don't gotta get all nasty.”

Alexander just sighs, and continues walking forward. John follows him. Despite his rudeness toward John, they both walk in a companionable silence. The pain on his body hasn't subsided, but he's grown numb enough to not want to scream and cry after every movement. He looks past John at the beach. It's a little more populated on this side, but still not as much as it would be on, say, a Saturday or Sunday. You'd think that people would prefer to go to the beach on a Saturday so they could stay in and have a lazy Sunday, but as it turns out, a lot of families like to go to the beach after church. He’s never been big on religion, but sometimes he likes to sit in during Sunday Mass. The stained glass ceiling forms an illustration of Jesus Christ standing amongst swirling clouds with a great yellow light behind him, while baby angels float next to him, holding harps. When the sun hangs over the church, it’s filled with sparkling tints of gold, blue, red, and white; and even little bits of brown, and green. It's his favorite part of Mass.

“You're oddly quiet,” John notices. “What you thinkin’ about?”

Alexander shrugs one of his shoulders. “The ceiling of that little church everyone goes to.”

“I hate church.” John says in a monotone voice. He hasn't had good experiences with church.

“You gotta admit, though,” Alexander says, “it's pretty.”

Now is John's turn to shrug. They continue on quietly.

“If I could,” Alexander says after a minute, “I’d make _my_ bedroom ceiling out of stained glass.”

“That'd be a good idea if you didn't have other apartment floors on top of you.” John points out.

“Not all of us can have our own house at fifteen,” Alexander jokes.

John scoffs. “ ‘Til he finds out about me.”

“Oh, come on,” Alexander drops a hand on his shoulder. “You two don't even talk since you were imancipated, and he's all the way in South Carolina. He won't find out. Anyway, it's 2017, nobody cares about that stuff anymore.”

“You don't know him,” John says. “If he finds out I like guys, he'll cut me off. I won't be able to pay for college, I won't be allowed to see my siblings, not to mention the major whoop-ass I'll get. Jesus…”

Alexander racks his brain for something to say. “Well, if anything, I'd help you get a job and you could sleep on the couch until we can afford a futon. Then we could share a room and watch all the crappy sitcoms we'd like. Maybe we'd even find you a date.”

“I,” John declares, “do not need your help finding a date. And besides, how would _you_ know how to pick up guys?”

“Simple: I know how I'd want someone to go about trying to get with me.”

John chuckles and throws a hand over Alexander’s shoulder. “You, my friend, know nothing about my type.”

“Pssh, easy.” Alexander says. “Guys like me are your type.”

“You wish!” John gives him a little shove, laughing.

They reach the store, and John holds the door open for him. The inside smells like sunscreen and salt water, and is decorated with surfboards and beach balls hanging from the ceiling. The walls are aqua, with cursive words painted over shelves, titled things like _“boards”_ and _“beach toys”_. Alexander goes immediately to the isle with sunscreen, tanning oil, and most importantly aloe gel. John's off somewhere probably looking at the little ocean animals plushies. Dude’s got a whole collection of them.

He grabs the biggest bottle they have, and walks back to the front of the store. When he goes to the counter where the cashier is, he sees John showing off his skateboard to the cashier, but it's clear what he's really trying to do. He's really flirtatious for someone terrified of his father finding out about his sexuality.

Normally Alexander wouldn't want to stop John's mojo, but he desperately needs to pay for these. He reaches the counter as a couple comes into the store. He places down the aloe vera gel bottle.

The cashier takes a moment to appreciate John's arms, maybe drooling a little, before turning to Alexander.

“Fell asleep on the beach?” The cashier asks. He can't be older than seventeen or eighteen. Not with that peach fuzz on his chin.

“How could you tell?” Alexander answers sarcastically, but the kid answers with honesty.

“You're friend here told me.” He looks at John, who winks at him. The cashier turns away, cheeks red, and continues scans the bottle. Alexander hums in response.

Alexander thinks of the dream he had at the beach. It felt so _real_ , like he can still feel the sensation of keeping the area around him dry. He can still see the fish swimming aimlessly around him, and the anger he felt brewing in him, starting from his gut up to his heart. For a second, it’s as if he’s hypnotized, staring off into nothing, while the ocean swirls around him. He can feel the sand, hear the waves, taste and smell the salt in the air. It consumes him. That is, until John clears his throat, snapping him out of his spell. Alexander’s head snaps to John, who is currently giving him a look that let’s him know he’s going to try and get Alexander to talk about it. It’s something neither of them enjoy, especially with all the mushy-feely stuff, but it’s an unspoken agreement that they do it anyway. Alexander turns his head and looks at the slightly pimple-faced cashier. He repeats the price, and Alexander slings the bag off his shoulder, about to get his wallet from the front pocket, but John pays for him.

They both thank the cashier and leave the shop, continuing down the boardwalk, not really going anywhere in specific this time, for a minute or two before John takes a breath.

“You okay? Normally I’d be begging you to stop talking.” John says.

“Fine,” Alexander said. He turned his head towards John as he said this, but kept his eyes trained on a small boat behind John's shoulder. “I'm kinda thinking about this weird dream that I had on the beach.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“I'm dunno, man. _Weird,_ weird.” Alexander turned his head back in front of him. “Like, suddenly-waking-up-at-the-bottom-of-ocean-weird.”

“How'd you, like, survive?” John asked. He pulled out some a strip of gum from his pocket and held one out for Alexander.

“I was in an airtight bubble, I guess.” Alexander took the gum and unwrapped it, forgetting that mint gum often times made him cough.

“Sounds like good weird to me.” John pulls one out for himself, but put the wrapped back in his pocket.

“It was kinda also weird, weird because, yeah, it was cool being in the ocean, but I was really mad for some reason, so the bubble shot me up into the air or something and then I woke up.” Alexander said around the gum.

“I get a lot of weed dreams.” John says pensively. Alexander snorts.

“Why?”

“How am I supposed to know? Why do _you_ get dreams about being under the ocean?” John says.

“Well I wasn't under the ocean. Just in it.” Alexander corrects.

“Whatever, man. I should probably get going. I need turtle food for Franklin.” John says before dropping his skateboard on the ground. “I'll see you later.”

Alexander waves him off and continues walking the rest of the way to his apartment. He opens the unlocked door and steps in side, sighing. The pain from his sunburn hasn't let up, and although talking to John about the dream helped him feel better, he still had no idea what it actually meant. He still can't shake the feeling that it felt so _real_. But, that's impossible. He would have drowned, wouldn't he? There was no one there for miles, so unless there was a boat or something nearby it wouldn't make sense as to why he was passed out on the shore. Especially since no decent person would just pick a person up and drop them off somewhere like and dead body. But then if it was real, how did he survive? He feels like there's something trying to claw its back to the front of his mind, but it's muddy and confusing. It hurts his head to think so hard, so he just goes to his little room to grab a change of clothes before going to take a quick shower, taking the bag of aloe gel with him. He takes a look at his burn when he undresses. His skin is so red it looks like he covered himself in red ink and rubbed it into his skin. He hates it, and he hates the way the water feels on his body, which of of course sucks because water is pretty much his whole life. After (very lightly) towelling himself off, he dresses himself but leaves the shirt off. He grabs the bottle a squeezes out a big blob of gel onto his hand and rubs it over his chest and stomach.

Sure it relieves some of his pain, but is replaced with a cold kind of sting. Frustration subtly forms at the bottom of his chest, polluting his heart. Sure, it’s ridiculous to get so worked up over a burn, but Alexander has always felt his emotions ten times stronger than the people around him. And contemplating whether or not his waking up at the bottom of the ocean was a dream or not isn’t helping. After his torso is sufficiently covered he squeezes out another blob of gel onto his hand and rubs them together. As he spread it over his arms he realized, ironically, he absentmindedly chose a wife beater tank. At least he doesn’t physically resemble his father. Yet again, more gel is squeezed out onto his hand and spread across the burned parts of his legs and face. When he’s done, he carefully pulls the shirt over his head and can’t help believing that his dream wasn’t a dream at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still love this idea so im gonna try to get my thumb out my ass and not take over three months to update


	5. Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long !! :{

This time when Alexander wakes up, he’s surrounded by darkness. Being in the dark had always been rather stressful for him— he usually took vitamins a couple hours before night to help him sleep soundly. They usually helped. Without them, he would mostly spend the whole night with the lights on, clutching a baseball bat for protection from some unknown monster coming for him and his mother. Other times he’d just pass out due to pure exhaustion, still holding the bat. This dark didn’t scare him, though. It was chilly, but not horribly cold. The sand where he sat was soft and cushiony; not at all like the hot, scratchy sand from this morning.

A dream, Alexander supposed. He was in another dream.  He looked up and around, but saw no sign of light or indication that there were other organisms around to give him a clue as to where he was. There was the sand, though, and the strong scent of the ocean, so he supposed that’s where he was. He brought a hand up to touch his hair, and realized it, along with the rest of his body, was completely dry. Just like the last dream.

The only difference from then and now is his environment. He even felt just as calm, if not more calm, than before.

It was like he had been here. He felt the same nostalgia one would after passing by the house they used to live in years ago. He didn’t know why, but he felt at home. He also knew exactly where to go. He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, but he knew where to step and where to turn. He wondered where his feet were taking him and and worried over how long it would take him. He had to be home for dinner. Alexander’s mother doesn’t like eating alone. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before something within him said  _ stop _ .

If he had been in deep sea, then it seems he walked up some hill-type thing (bending water didn’t make him an expert oceanologist) up to higher ground, judging by the dots of waving sunlight he could see above his head. Ahead of him was a shipwreck. It was some sort of fishing boat or something, he guessed. He has no idea why he thinks it’s a fishing boat, it just looks like it would be. A little bit of the end was nuzzled into the sand, causing the front part to stick up. He willed the ocean to allow him to jump up and swim to the control room. He wasn’t alarmed or anything, but he felt the need to hide, so he did. He felt that sometimes, the need to run and hide.

The wreck couldn’t have been recent due because of the lack of bones, probably decayed over time or abandoned on the spot. There wasn’t much to look at— a crab or two walking across the deck, an old net hanging off the ledge— nothing of interest. He opened the control room door and decided to take a seat on the large chair in front of the dashboard. He waited there patiently for a while, sometimes swiping his hand out to play with the small school of fish aimlessly circling the room. He didn’t know why he was waiting, but something was coming, he could feel it. The dash overlooked the deck of the ship, so he looked around that area for a bit, watching the occasional schools of fish pass by. Mostly it was uninteresting, but he did watch the two crabs fight and saw a shark pass by. That was exciting.

Then he saw two figures in the distance. Something in him clicked, causing him to dive off of the chair and behind the dash. He peeked up, and the two figures were now nearing the deck. Now that Alexander had a clear view of them, he threw a hand over his mouth to stop himself from gasping aloud. They had naked human-like torsos, with long vibrant tales, similar in shape and color. He could differentiate between the two’s genders by looking at their chests. The older-looking one looked like she once had breasts, but had since been replaced with scarred tissue where they used to be. Despite that, she was beautiful. She was tough, he could tell. She had these slightly build arms and a strong, flat stomach. Her hair was worn in thick dreadlocks, tied together by some long green thing. He couldn’t make out the fine details of her face, but he could see that neither of them had ears. Instead they had some sort of strange flabby things on the sides of their heads. Her’s were neutral against her head, calm. His were up and alert, like an excited puppy.

As they got closer, he could see the man much more clearly. He had a broad build, and was taller than the woman, but still looked younger by many years. His hair was loose, shorter than hers, and worn in tight curls. He had a shortly cropped beard, and full lips smiling widely. His tail, much like hers, was long. They were both different shades of purple with his being darker than hers. He had chiseled abs, like he lifts weights regularly.

They were both attractive, that was undeniable. But there were parts of them (other than the fish tails) that were off. There were the ears, first of all, which were long and webbed like the spaces in between their fingers. He could tell this because the man kept waving his hands around in excited gestures, showing off the webs of flesh, while the woman shook her head at him. It was clear that they were having a conversation, but both their mouths remained closed. The more he looked at them, the more amazed he was by them. They were incredible…  _ whatevers _ . And even though he’d never seen anything like them before, he somehow recognized them. Not them specifically, though, but their species. It wasn’t like The Little Mermaid, but it was as if they were just regular people. In a weird way, they were like the main event at a sideshow circus he’d once heard of, but had never seen the real thing.

Something in Alexander told him to listen in on their conversation, but what was there to listen to? It’s not like they were audibly speaking. Yet, somehow, he knew to close his eyes. He knew to clear his mind until all that was left was the two oddities ten feet away from him. In his mind, he could see them perfectly— the purple scales going up their sides, the flap of their gills as they took in water, even the man’s excited movements and the woman’s weary expression. He could see it all so clearly, as if his eyes were really open.

Except, this time he could hear them.

_ “ How could I be lying? I  _ saw  _ him! I  _ held _ him! Why would I lie about that, Martha?”  _ He pleaded to the woman, Martha.

_ “How should I know?” _ Martha answered.  _ “You’re always hiding out by those docks listening to sailors stories! Maybe you heard one and got confused. Did you hit your head?”  _ She swam up higher to see over the top of the head and began pushing his hair around. He waved her off and spread his fins out threateningly.

_ “Of course I didn’t my head! Am I a hatchling?”  _ He asked, embarrassed.

_ “You sure act like it.” _ She deadpanned, backing off and crossing her arms.

_ “Take this seriously! I watched him the whole time he was down there!”  _ Heart beating faster, Alexander knew they were talking about him.  _ “He shot himself out of the sky like the sea was some sort of giant whale blowing out water! I caught him before he could hit the water and break a bone. He was dry to the touch! Do you see where I’m getting at?” _

_ “Not particularly, no.”  _ She said flatly.

He sighed in frustration, fins going flat against his head. He looked her in the eyes and placed his hands on her broad shoulders.  _ “The Messiah, Martha. What if he was the Messiah?” _

At that, she uncrossed her arms and gave a hearty-looking, inaudible laugh.  _ “Are you kidding me? No one has seen The Messiah in millenia. We don’t even truly know if He exists.” _

_ “But don’t you remember the prophecy?  _ You _ were the one who told me it as a child. ‘A tailless creature will fall from the Heavens above. He will be saved by one of our own, and shall return again to reclaim His crown.’ ” _

_ “So, what?” _ She said, still not taking the man serious.  _ “That was just a silly story I told you to get you to sleep. I mean, do you even hear yourself, Thomas?” _

_ “I know it sounds crazy,”  _ Thomas pleaded.  _ “That’s why I brought you here. I thought at least  _ you _ would believe me.” _

_ “I’m sorry, little brother. But how can I believe you with no proof?” _

Thomas began to look angry. His fins remained pressed against his head, but this time it was hostile as he showed his sharp teeth and gave a low hiss.

_ “Why can’t you just—” _

The school of fish passed by Alexander’s ear, causing him to flinch violently. He looked back at the pair, eyes open wide with fear as Martha held up her hand, silencing her brother.

He watched with bated breaths as she said,  _ “Someone is watching us.” _

Then she turned her whole body, flattening her fins and baring her teeth, and hissed loudly at Alexander. 

He let out a scream of terror and jumped back before waking up, drenched in sweat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully this killed my five month writers block


End file.
